The Shadow's Song
by Kioji
Summary: Fate was a surly thing. Fate had her knee-deep in Feudal Japan politics, waist high in death, and over her head in misfortune. However, not even fate planned on this. Kunoichi somehow landed into the life of Sakura Haruno.
1. Surrender

_I own not Samurai Warriors or Naruto, and apparently not even the idea the two would make a cute couple. _

_Dedicated to—you!_

_I won't bother you with any more rubbish—but if you're so inclined, read the footnotes._

* * *

><p><em>The Shadow's Song<em>

_Kioji_

* * *

><p>-Chapter One-<p>

Surrender

_Sometimes you just gotta go with it._

* * *

><p>This was awful.<p>

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, wondering just how long she was going to be able to keep this up before someone noticed. Before _he_ noticed. Even as focused and straight-forward as the general was, he was bound to catch on at some point. Especially if she kept vomiting all over camp…

"You—_kunoichi_—the Sanada call for you!"

She quirked a brow, pretending to have some business kneeled over in the grass besides being sick all over herself. She waved a hand in the air and rose to her feet, pretending to ignore the obvious sneer in the soldier's voice. Like many, he did not approve of shinobi—let alone a _woman_ shinobi, one seemingly favored by the Sanada clan.

Stretching, she rocked on her toes and begged the unnamed gods to ease the rolling thunder in her stomach, to sooth the headache throbbing in her temples.

As she made her way to the general's quarters, she counted the men strewn about—a quirky habit of hers. She didn't like being put off guard.

One, two…three…

Someone spat at her, turning his back on her as he bent back to scratching at his meal. She wiped the mucus from her arm, noting the grit and blood. Probably a victim of pneumonia—the humid weather and unsanitary conditions were getting to the best of men. She didn't bother remembering his face for her revenge, knowing he would probably be dead before winter set in.

Four… one behind the bush there—five…

A hand reached out and stopped her in her path, taking the woman by surprise. She bit down to keep from swearing.

"You are not well."

She almost laughed out loud, suppressing a shiver.

"Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

Yukimura frowned, uncharacteristically showing concern. He beckoned her to follow him into a tent, one she recognized to be his own.

"So what's up? I thought the old man—"

"Master Shingen did not summon you. I did."

She sucked the inside of her cheek while maintaining a straight face, irritated she made another mistake. He merely looked her over before continuing.

"I am leaving you here. We march out in the morning—"

"What? You're kidding, right? You're _leaving me here_? I can—"

"You will only get in the way. I have other shinobi guards that will do just as well. Return to your quarters," he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. She allowed herself to slump her shoulders for a fraction of a second before trying again. He shot a hand up before she could get the first word out.

"While you are here, I want you to observe Katanuma Nobumoto and report back to me when I return."

She chewed on her lower lip, debating whether or not to argue orders. Of course she knew she couldn't, but she wanted to anyway—even if it was just to prolong the conversation. However, her employer seemed to have other plans, giving her the signal to take her leave. She inclined her head in respect and ducked out.

Even Yukimura's tolerance only ran so thick.

* * *

><p>The tiny canvas tent she called home sang sweetly in the breeze as the tempest festering on the horizon inched closer. Her hair almost stood up on end with the electric tension in the air, no doubt foreshadowing a wicked storm. There were many like that in this region, almost daily, she reminded herself. So there was no reason she should be so on edge, like something was going to happen.<p>

Knowing number twenty four sleeping soundly beneath a barberry bush was oblivious to her presence, she allowed a tremor to move through her frame. The fever was back, it seemed—and she chewed the last of her herbal tea leaves in the middle of the night to keep from shaking out of her bedroll.

Taking the time to secure her shelter more firmly, the nameless kunoichi crouched low and entered her quarters, diving head-first into her musty pallet to wait for the worst to blow over.

As the rain and wind battered at the fluid walls just barely keeping the weather out, she dreamed about her parents for the first time since leaving her home so long ago. Unlike many young people thrown into the tumultuous world of war and death, she had done so willingly—she _embraced_ the idea of becoming a shinobi—a kunoichi. For in it was freedom. Escape.

Her mother might have cared, if she had been an only child—or at the very least, the only _girl_. Her father might have loved her if she had been born a man. Or not at all. Of the four daughters he was plagued with, he most ardently liked her the least.

So of course she left home a lot, shrinking her duties to play war with the village children or plunder nature for her fruit. Of course she got beaten a lot, for having a mind and speaking it. And of course when the notion arose that she could simply _leave_ and not return, she did just that—took off with a handful of stolen coins and two mismatched shearing knives.

What had been her name? Kimono? Kichi? Kyoto?

Searing pain shot through her gut, forcing her awake onto her knees as she clutched her stomach, wondering if she was perhaps poisoned. Not unheard of, she thought casually, feeling chilled as her blanket exposed her sweat-dewed skin. She retched, praying _something_ would come up besides sickly noises and disappointment…

Instead of reaching a plateau and diminishing, the pain tightened and intensified. She finally started to worry.

Clawing at her clothes, she wondered if it would be unseemly to stumble into camp for help. After all, she would be met with a warmer reception if she wandered into the enemy encampment. She laughed in her panic, her thoughts flying unbidden to Yukimura. Surely he…

Surely she spent too much time with a temperature to think his continued acceptance of her presence meant anything past a professional interest. When prompted by another officer about why he would allow such a blasphemous creature to serve under him and prance around with so much freedom, Yukimura simply replied she could better profit him if she could do her own thing. Besides, what could he possibly do or say to change her wayward ways?

Another shock of pain flashed through her senses. She realized it wasn't just her stomach crying out in torment; her arms and legs and head started to pulsate with an unfamiliar pain. Her entire body seized and crumpled in sudden paralysis, frightening her more than anything in her short twenty years. Even if she _wanted _ to crawl to her master's feet and beg for mercy—she couldn't.

Choking out a half-felt plea, she tried to belly along the ground to the tent flap, but she soon found her lungs stricken as well. Tears running down her face, she ceased her desperation and accepted the fact she was probably going to die.

* * *

><p>Like a burning ash, she slowly floated down from the sky, her eyes wide as she sank beneath a grey-white surface of some kind. She still had no control over her limbs, or else she would be struggling back to the bright light shimmering above, knowing that was <em>life<em>, and stewing below her was a dimming existence called _death_.

She could see around her even though her eyes were still searching for an answer upward, noting with some relief she didn't seem to be in hell. No flames yet—just wispy, untouchable mist without moisture or pressure.

As the scene before her slowly faded away as she sank, she let go of her phantom panic and settled finally to the bottom. Opening her eyes, she nodded with a smile and admired the pond lined by reeds before her.

* * *

><p>Sometimes it rained. Sometimes the colorless sky would erupt in a fury of crimson and gold, illuminating the deep green cattails and silver surface with impressive passion. Most of the time it was silent, with whispering voices drifting from no where over the water.<p>

_Well, it could be Botulism. _

Bot…tu…

_No,… symptoms started in her stomach—and no one else… shows signs…_

Bot…tu..li…sim…

_She's been checked for … ?_

What a funny word. Bottu li sum.

_Yes, of course, what kind of operation do you think we run here?_

Operation—operation? Like infiltration?

_I'm just concerned…don't mean…offend…_

_Hey,… alright… is going to be alright. _

…_hope…_

* * *

><p>I'm dead, right?<p>

She stretched out her hands before her, admiring the way the source-less light shone off of her moonlight pale skin. Looking back at the impressive lake before her, she posed another wordless question.

I can't go back, can I? I snuffed it. Dead as a door nail.

She returned to waving her fingers before her face, wondering what Yukimura was doing. Marching out, perhaps? Certainly he wouldn't halt his… operation… just for a nobody kunoichi.

Operation…Bottu li sum…

Who is Sakura? She asked, watching the water finally waver in response. She shook her fist at the trembling waves.

What is Bottu li sum?

Angry and confused, she tried to plant her feet down so she could get into a proper stance to threaten the emptiness. It was almost comical to watch her toes flex and beat the air fruitlessly as she hovered above the ground.

Where am I? Why am I alone?

She shouted, though there was no sound—she _shouted_.

And then the pond shouted back.

* * *

><p><em>And so I find myself at the ends of the Earth,<br>hand in hand with my fear. _

* * *

><p><em>I've done some research, and Kunoichi, according to the Koei wikipedia, has been referred to by name as Kunoichi in Warrior's Orochi, but since it means 'female ninja,' I highly doubt anyone in their right mind would name their kid that in Feudal Japan. There are some more facts and stuff about her employment-like she originally served Shingen and was given to Yukimura or the Sanada clan or whatnot-that I am uncharacteristically choosing to ignore since I am going to be meshing two unrelated universes together. So-<em>

_Kunoichi is **not**_ her name. __

__She is older here, not fifteen as in Samurai Warriors 1. (I have yet to own the third installment, but I'm going to, mark my words...)__

__I do not promise a lot of updating, but I don't think it'll be a long one. I'm just curious is all, to see if I can do something like this. That's the nature of this work-curiosity. __


	2. Welcome Back to Hell

_I don't own neither Naruto nor Samurai Warriors._

* * *

><p>-Chapter Two-<p>

Welcome Back to Hell

_Some things never change_.

* * *

><p>There was one thing she was certain of when she opened her eyes.<p>

She was _not_ in her tent—or in any tent—camped just outside of the Imagawa lands.

When she opened her mouth or tried to move her body, she was met with a serene silence by her limbs. She remembered the unearthly pain just before she lost consciousness, as well as the inability to move then, too, but there was no pain now. It was like living death.

Utterly confused, she tried her best to survey her surroundings, shocked numb by what she saw and felt. When a high-pitched war horn erupted in the doorway, she visibly jolted, unsure where to focus her eyes.

"Ah, well, she seems to be awake,"

Panting, she scanned again. It wasn't the alarm for battle—someone dressed in something white was talking to her. She tried to peer for closer inspection. It was so damn _bright_—

"Can you sit up?"

She blinked—suddenly the pale figure was in front of her, wavering in front of her face. The kunoichi sucked in a breath, wondering where her weapons were. Where anything was, really. She was profoundly perplexed.

"I guess not," the woman dully noted, passing something even brighter than the rest of the room over her eyes. She did her best to avoid the light, earning a scowl from the older lady.

"Sakura? Sakura?"

Another being entered the room, bringing in a swirl of sound and light. The kunoichi felt a prick of pain behind her brow as her vision began to whirl—this was getting to be overwhelming.

"Oh, thank god! I thought—oh, god!"

Watching the newest addition to the room burst into tears and continue to call her _Sakura_, she wished someone would do her a favor and send her back to hell.

* * *

><p>Wordlessly, she stared back into the mirror, occasionally picking a strand of impossibly colored hair off of her cheek. Her jade eyes remained rooted on the lightest dusting of freckles across her nose.<p>

"Sakura? Would you like something to eat? I have your favorite here…,"

The lightest panic touched her stomach with that _name_ again, followed by the bewildered confusion she was all but numb to by now. Her gaze never left the mirror stationed on the opposing wall.

"My… favorite?"

She cringed at the sound of her voice.

Actually, I am hungry, she thought as she finally turned to look at the strange woman who had not left the room since she gained consciousness. She reached for the plastic tupperware—now not an unfamiliar sight—with shaking hands. After opening the lid and discovering it was not in fact grilled salmon and rice, she quirked an eyebrow and shook her head, mostly at herself. Of course this wouldn't be her favorite food, because she wasn't _herself _anymore.

The girl swallowed and bit back cold dread.

It had taken three days for her to finally come to accept this decision—that she was somehow someone else.

Like most things she didn't understand, she simply put it off to the side and tried to focus on something she could comprehend, or the next course of action. Where to go next—who to report back to. Not any of that did her any good now. Though she knew this, she still had a burning desire to ask one question, as if the answer would put everything to rest.

Licking her lips, she gripped the edges of the strange container and brought herself to look up.

"Where is—," she forced herself to drop the honorific duty usually required, "—Yukimura?"

Though she probably knew the answer, she hoped anyway. Before she could consign herself to defeat, her shinobi mind had to know she did all she could.

As expected, her companion blinked several times in confusion before shaking her head, concern written in her features.

"Here, eat this up. The doctor is going to come take one last look at you before we check out."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you can walk by yourself?"<p>

She merely shook her head, not totally understanding the full sentence. Though the dialect was _close enough_ to her own, she found herself puzzling over most of the conversation. When she went to answer a question, she used mostly vague gestures and definite yeses or nos. Even if she wasn't a kunoichi anymore, it wouldn't pay to show weakness in front of these people, and incomprehension was right up there with ignorance in her book.

Gritting her teeth, she dared to look up. For once, the woman—her half-hearted research told her she was her _mother_—had her back turned to her as she talked to another female behind some sort of barrier. Quickly, she gave the large room a perfunctory glance for escape routes and possible usable weapons, but the shear unfamiliarity overtook her and she dropped her eyes back to her toes.

On the way home, she bit her pride and allowed the mother-woman to lead her through the streets, clenching the insides of her cheeks.

She was so unlike herself it hurt.

* * *

><p>Another week passed without event. She saw little more than the inside of the house, spending most of her time in the tiny room she assumed belonged to her. Perhaps she was waiting—waiting for that awful pain to swallow her whole again and spit her back out into her world. It worked once, right?<p>

Another few days pass.

Apparently not. Thought it was nice enough to not be trapped forever looking over a boring pond.

She was restless, having regained full function of her alien body and nowhere to vent her pent up energy and fear. Sleep was her biggest escape, and she dreamed vividly about her past. Mostly Yukimura, whether she liked it or not. It took death and a half to make her realize she had somewhat of a crush the man.

Rolling over, she sighed and admired the dying sunlight illuminating the burgundy curtains. Light knocking shook her from her light reverie.

"Sakura? I'm coming in—"

_Sakura_.

She was named after a plant. She had _pink_ _hair_. She was twelve again.

She took back her earlier brief relief about not being sent back to purgatory.

"Hey."

The bed sank down under the older woman's weight.

"I was talking to your father on the phone…"

She sucked in her breath, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps out of residual fear for that word. Otou-san.

"…and though he is very concerned and wants you to be better, he wonders when you will be going back to the academy."

Unsure of the full meaning, she remained silent, waiting for familiar words to cue her into what the word _school_ meant. Taking her silence as pained hesitation, the woman backtracked.

"I mean, it's okay if you don't go back—if you don't want to be a kunoichi anymore. You can stay here and—"

"Kunoichi?"

She perked up, rolling over to regard the woman with desperation in her eyes. She was met with an encouraged smile.

"Yes, yes! You want to be a kunoichi."

I _am_ a kunoichi, she thought to herself with indignation. However, it was something familiar to grasp hold of, some way _out_. She simply bobbed her head up and down, light in her eyes for the first time since… well, she died, she supposed.

Her mother mirrored her movements, grinning.

"Good, good. I'll call up the academy right away."

* * *

><p>Eavesdropping.<p>

One of her specialties, in fact.

Even before her formal shinobi education, she excelled in the art of being noisy as a child. Though it wasn't difficult, living in a house with no walls save the ones that kept the snow and wind out. She grinned like a pouncing cat as she squatted near the kitchen archway. If she was going to be back in the saddle again, there was no time like now to get started.

"…no, I'm aware of the risks—but this is the first time in weeks I've seen some _life_! This is the only thing she wants. I—"

She twirled the chord, biting her painted lip. From her position, the girl could see something of a slump in the woman's features.

"…so, you got the report, then… There is… something _off_ about her, but they—the doctors said she's suffering from post-dramatic stress from being so close to death…"

The man—it was a man, she decided—barked something harsh on the other end. Apparently it touched a nerve.

"I'll have you know my daughter is _very_ capable, and if she wants to do something, _goddamnit_, she can _do_ it! She will be in class tomorrow, and if she requires help from you, you_ will _give it to her_ or I will personally see you killed_."

The eavesdropping shinobi almost fell over in surprise by the sudden change in the sunny woman's personality. She caught her balance on the door frame and listened, trying her best to understand everything.

She smirked. Though she doubtlessly missed the nuances, it wasn't hard to get that she had at least one person on her side. Even if it _was_ just her own mother.

* * *

><p>Morning found the girl dressed and ready by the kitchen table, armed to the teeth with every scrap of metal she could find and just as much paper stuffed in the pack she found hanging in the closet. After racking her brains about the intelligence she had gathered so far, this place she was going to was one to gain knowledge and skills, not unlike the inconspicuous shrine she spent a third of her life learning the art of survival from other women. However different this place was from her own war-torn world, the term <em>shinobi<em> seemed to be the same. As far as the obvious differences…

She pat the stuffed pack with appreciation.

She would gladly take notes.

"You're already up?"

Her new mother came yawning into the kitchen, glossy blonde hair coming free from its bun. She smiled and turned her attention to the large white box in the corner to fetch something from within, handing it to the girl with a sleepy grin.

"Your lunch."

She accepted it with as much grace as a confused foreigner could, scrunching up her eyebrows in concentration.

"Thank…you."

When the other woman smiled, she breathed a sigh of relief and went to put the wrapped meal into her already full bag. She stiffened when a hand gently touched her shoulder with a hesitant question.

"Do you… remember where it is?"

She met the woman's emerald eyes with something like awe.

* * *

><p>"Sakura Haruno."<p>

She continued to gape at the scrolls and books crammed in the corner of the room, wondering where to get started. This was, after all, a whole new world. If she was going to _conquer _it and regain her shinobi status, she had to _learn_.

"Sakura-san."

The language, the land, the rules—it was all becoming a part of a new game. With no warlords, no armies, no tents—she had the rest of her life to—

"HARUNO!"

She jumped, recognizing _Haruno_ to be her supposed family name. A man wearing baggy dark pants with his arms crossed over an ugly green vest scowled down at her, obviously perturbed.

"Class has started, I would appreciate it if you took your seat?"

Snickers echoed throughout the room from the children seated in rows. She frowned at them and returned her gaze to the man, wondering exactly where that was. In all her early years, ninja training never took place behind a desk. A brothel? Yes. Seduction practice. A teahouse? Yes. Disguise. An apothecary? Yes. Poison 101. A graveyard? Anatomy had to be learned somewhere.

But this?

She shook her head as she went for the open seat in the front, not surprised by the age of the children, but more by their relaxed demeanors, their clothes, their hair. This was not at all like _her_ training, where she had to crop her hair short and wear weighted gi unless she was doing field study. Though the geisha getup was just as taxing…

"Sakura, this is the work you missed," the scarred man said, handing her a packet of papers. She grasped it with a half-hearted hold, underestimating the weight. It plopped heavily against the desk, trapping her hand comically underneath. As she gaped at the weakness of her wrist, he cleared his throat and backtracked, mistaking her open exasperation.

"Uh, just turn it in at your leisure…,"

"Iruka-sensei? I gotta pee…"

The man visibly sighed.

"Class just started, Naruto."

"But I really gotta! I mean, if I don't go now, I'll just—explode!"

"Well, you better hurry up, then," he stated dryly, returning to his position at the front of the classroom. Taking one last deep breath, he turned back around to face his students for another long day of class.

"Today, as you know, we're going to talk about the foundation and history of the Land of Wind."

As usual, he was met with a collected groan.

All except Sakura Haruno, pen already in hand as she watched him with something akin to killer focus.

* * *

><p>"Uh, Sakura-san… you can stop now…"<p>

She wiped the sweat from her brow, dismayed by the dire results she was getting with the kunai. The _kunai_, her favorite weapon. Nonplussed, she took the distraction as a chance to breath as she regarded him with wide eyes. _Iruka_-_sensei_—as he was called—pointed to the sky for emphasis.

"I know it was a rough first day back, but the sun's starting to set… you don't need to be here, it's alright. Why don't you go home and get some supper? Your mom already called…," he looked down and scratched his head, something of a blush creeping up his collar as he remembered the contents of the conversation. He knew Mebuki Haruno's reputation…

"I'm… whatever," she dropped her knives at her feet and went to fetch the ones scattered around the tree and the few implanted in the target, the shorter hair around her face and neck floating freely in a frazzled halo from her pony tail. They didn't build Edo in a day, either, so she figured one night off wouldn't hurt.

Satisfied, Iruka turned and left her alone to lock up for the day.

Searching for the last kunai, she whispered her new name under breath over and over, trying to get the hang of it. As much as she hated it, and hated having a way for enemies to keep tabs on her, she knew she had to use it.

_Sakura_. I am _Sakura_.

She huffed and sat under the tree, looking up at the dimming sky through the branches.

Kunoichi just sounded so much better.

* * *

><p>Aqua eyes peered at their target from behind the academy building. They were shimmering with uncertainty, focused on the girl walking briskly through the training yard with her arms crossed in serious concentration. Her brow grew tighter when she didn't even acknowledge the glance that Sasuke-kun <em>almost <em>gave her. That alone, made Ino certain. Forget everything else.

_That_ was not Sakura Haruno.

And this was all her fault.

* * *

><p><em>Laugh if you will—<em>

_I'm learning a thousand different ways_

_to kill you._

* * *

><p><em>Revising for the sake of revising. I figured out a (lame) way to explain how she's here and where the real Sakura 'went.' Like the wind, this story is going to take itself where it wants to go. <em>

_K._


	3. Moon Rising

_I own neither Naruto nor Samurai Warriors.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

Moon Rising

_Sink or swim—it's dog-eat-dog here, baby._

* * *

><p>Weeks passed, and finally she found herself growing familiar with the terrain and the people. At first, she found class uninspiring and completely useless—until she encountered the concept of chakra.<p>

Iruka—for whatever reason—had given the class a break from their chakra studies to cover the more tedious history component of his curriculum. It was just her luck her 'leave of absence' took the brunt of it—so when the aspiring shinobi took to the floor to practice their technique, they were rusty and bent out of shape, the perfect atmosphere for the struggling kunoichi to blend in and pretend to know what the _hell_ was going on.

Wisely, she consulted every source she could, having discovered the academy library. Even the woman at home—mother—knew something about it, so she caught up quickly to her peers and managed to scrape along.

Though the thought of spitting fire or walking on water fascinated her, she still found the school to rather…lacking.

Sakura—she could now safely call herself that, time to time—found herself skipping class more often than she went. In fact, her attendance record rivaled that of the class clown's, but unlike her blond peer, she spent her treasured time doing something much more productive than loafing around.

Sometimes she spied in on the local dojo, eventually getting caught and forced to participate by the strangely enthusiastic teacher. She didn't mind.

There were times she scouted the forest, learning from trial and error about the wildlife around her home, finding that fortunately, what was edible and what was not from her experience hadn't changed.

Some days she stole away to the deepest part of town to people watch, learning the slang and different styles of speech—incognito, of course. She found this to be a good time to put her henge no jutsu to use. It remained unchallenged as her favorite technique.

And of course she spent time alone practicing—doing her damndest to get back into shape.

So when the girl actually deigned to go to class and waste time learning about _codes_ and _procedures_—completely asinine to her, if you asked—she didn't appreciate being lectured.

"Sakura," he started, putting a hand to his forehead. She kicked her chair leg under her, trying to remember her flute fingerings for a scale. Music was an "important" part of a well-rounded shinobi education.

"How badly do you want to be a ninja?"

She immediately dropped her feet and gave him a piercing stare. How badly do you want to keep your _balls_, she thought.

Despite himself, the man stepped back.

"What I mean to say is—how much _thought_ do you put into your future?"

"Every second of every day," she replied unhesitatingly, never blinking.

Iruka cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Uh, well—when you don't come to class, it puts off the appearance that you—that you _don't_."

"Don't what."

"That you don't _care_. I mean, what are you doing? When you're not here?"

She shrugged, finally breaking her unnerving gaze. Like _hell_ was she going to give him her schedule so he could hound her down.

He sighed, looking off longingly at the door.

"It seems I have no choice then."

This caught her attention.

"No choice?"

"I'm going to have to dismiss you."

Her jaw dropped. _All _this work and pain and he was going to _fail_ her? Did he not _know_ a good ninja when he saw one? She was speechless.

"I understand you went through a…trying time a month ago, and I've given you the benefit of the doubt, but…"

"I can show you."

He deadpanned.

"Wh—what?"

"I can show you I'm a good shinobi. Just give me a chance—tell me to do something, I'll do it!"

She clutched at the edges of her desk, desperate to prove herself and keep in the game. After all—it was graduation she was working for. Graduation meant getting away from this place, getting placed on a team, if temporarily, until she acquired the amount of experience to work on her own.

Free to do her own thing, as Yukimura put it.

"Well…," he eyed her uncertainly, "I suppose I can put you on probation…"

She jumped from her seat and hugged Iruka with all her strength, earning a chocked plea for breath from her instructor.

* * *

><p>Two weeks.<p>

The Sakura-kunoichi-girl had two weeks to pull her test scores up and show adequate progress to be able to participate in the graduation exam in _three_ weeks.

She tapped the pen against the desk, heaving a heavy sigh as she perused over the handouts and study guides her thoughtful sensei thought to pepper her with on the way out the door. It was her ticket back to safety, she knew, but… _damn_ if it wasn't _boring._

The breeze filtering inside from her open window, beckoning her to escape. It was the perfect time of day to go swimming—and it was her day off, too…

No, she groaned, not today…

"Man, what a drag! Isn't there something a girl can do to show she's serious _without_ wasting ten pounds of paper?"

"Sounds like you're working hard," her mother tartly noted, bearing a glass of sweating sweet green tea and cupcakes. She eyed the woman with puppy eyes.

"Can't you call the guy up and threaten him or something? This is just—impossible."

Mebuki rolled her eyes and set her bundle down on a cleared spot.

"Get to work, Sakura. By the way, your father is coming home tonight," she toned, her voice dropping low. The girl just nodded, knowing what _that_ meant. It seemed whatever world she escaped to, her scowling shadow of a father was going to follow her. Though he was light-hearted and kind, he was also pretty serious when he found out about her progress-or rather, lack thereof.

"'Kay. I'll behave."

If behave means I won't slip anything _too_ poisonous into his drink, she smirked to herself, though she doubted she'd do it. This family was getting to her.

"Good," Mebuki replied, bending over to gently kiss the top of her head, "now finish that up so you can help me cook. I need an extra pair of hands."

"'Kay."

Unconsciously smiling, she returned back to her busywork humming a tune.

* * *

><p>The food on the table had more to say than the three members of the Haruno family that night.<p>

Picking at her leeks, the pink-haired deviant schemed to escape, but duty kept her rooted.

"How is Sakura's schooling coming along?"

Both women put down their chop sticks. This was the dreaded question.

"Well, about that…"

"I'm failing."

Mebuki shot her daughter a horrified, angry look, but to no avail. He put down his utensils and severely frowned.

"But Iru—sensei gave me another shot, so I'm working super hard. In two weeks—"

"_This_ is what happens when I'm gone? Mebuki, if I had known you—"

"Now you're blaming me?! She was gone a long time! She—"

"—I'll take a test so I can take _another_ test—how lame is that—and in _three_ weeks—"

"That's just an excuse—"

"Maybe if you were _home more_—"

"—and in _three _weeks I'll graduate and become a real kunoichi. So there. Chill out."

Kizashi stopped mid-sentence, a twitch creeping across his frozen face. Sakura lifted her chin a little higher, stuck out her tongue, and returned to earlier conversation with her rice. Her mother sighed. She was expecting a reprimand from the still silent man across from her, but she was met instead with sudden laughter.

"A girl after my own heart!"

He continued to laugh, the dark cloud hanging over his mood lifted by the resolve and spunk he heard in her response. It was Mebuki's turn for an eyebrow twitch.

* * *

><p>As a result of attending class, Sakura found herself the focus of much conversation and interest. Besides the women that trained her in the art of death, she never got along with other women, namely because she didn't <em>work<em> with very many. However, she found them interesting and a change from her tedious task of actually paying attention to the lectures. It was during this time, however, that made her more aware that this life she was living was not her own. These girls all _knew_ her, knew her family, talked about memories she never had, talked about people she's never heard of. The best thing, she figured, was to go along with it. Unknowingly they were giving her the answers about this life that she needed answered.

There was just that one question about, well, _why_. And more pressing-_how_.

Through her own general observations, conversation with her mother, father, classmates, and teachers, as well as various doctor visits, she found a few noteworthy facts.

One. This girl, this _Sakura_, got very sick. They do not know what caused the illness.

Two. The onset of the disease, the timing, the symptoms, were very similar to the experience she vaguely remembered before her death.

The missing piece boggled her mind. How was one and two connected? If _she_ was here, did that mean that the girl she was masquerading around as was..._there_? In her body?

_Thinking_ was not her style. She preferred to _do. _And thinking about something unfathomable, something almost sacrilegious, was taxing at best.

And then there was _her_.

The long-haired blonde thought she was being sneaky, but the only thing sneaking past _her _was the whole reason behind this mess. Sakura decided to put an end to the shameless and honestly terrible stalking. _  
><em>

"I know I'm beautiful, but you can come closer. I won't bite," she coyly purred, not bothering to turn around to face the flushed Ino behind her.

"Just-just what the _hell_?! That's not how Sakura talks! You-_who _are you?"

This got her attention. She stayed silent.

"Ever since that stupid kokkuri-san thing we did, you haven't been the same! You got sick, and now-"

Her ears rang. Finally, a lead.

She turned and straddled her chair, facing Ino with a smug smile.

"My memory has been a little foggy lately. Maybe we can talk after school?" She winked and whisked back around, feeling more and more like herself. Perhaps when she learned the real reason behind all this, learned _how_ this happened, perhaps there was a way to...

* * *

><p><em>I will reach for the stars<em>

_just like you showed me to._

* * *

><p><em>How's that for a revision? I found that Sakura's parents were actually introduced in the show, so I thought to actually include them. I admit to not seeing these episodes, so if they are wildly out of character, sue me. I found that they argue about minor things, her father has dull pink hair, her mom's a blonde, and they care about her. <em>


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